


A favour to an old business partner

by Anonymous



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Computer Viruses, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Literal Heat Also, M/M, PWP, Sex Pollen, When You Nut So Hard You Pass Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: This was Sombra's intent laid plain: she meant tohumbleMax. She meant to make him stew in it. He could commend her audacity if it did not directly imperil his most adept financier.
Relationships: Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu/Maximilien
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: Anonymous, Heat Fic Summer 2020





	A favour to an old business partner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greygerbil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/gifts).



The knock at the door was more a mad clawing, prompting Akande to glance at the camera feed from outside his office. His brow furrowed—for it was Maximilien's body slumped against the paneling, resembling an old crisis model being sent to scrap, if not for the incongruity of his immaculate suit. His head jerked as it lifted. The muffled voice implored him: "We need to speak. In private." Akande had never heard that waver in his voice before, and it gave him pause. He ought to have ignored him. Akande did not appreciate interruptions, even from his business associates; Maximilien, of all people, should know better than this. Max persisted: "I do _not_ do this lightly. The matter is—somewhat urgent." For once Akande's curiosity would win out. That tone of voice coming from anyone else would sound like a plea.

The door slid open with the press of a switch, and a blast of heat preceded Max's entry—a sultry, ozonic heat that wrapped around Akande's neck and slipped down the gap of his collar. As Max followed, his feet shambled over themselves and he ended up on the rug with a metallic thud. Akande started from his desk. "You're not _well._ " Max was in no position to chastise him for voicing the obvious.

"Infected." Max spoke in skips and warps, his vocal processor flickering. "I'm running hot. I don't know how long I've got until something unsolders itself."

'Running hot' was putting it mildly. Entering the aura of his heat was suffocating. Akande scooped his body off the ground with little resistance. His extremities buzzed with dangerous warmth, but it was his core that sung; Akande felt the hum of his processors in his back teeth. "Respecting urgency—were I you, I'd be the last person I'd approach with a hardware issue." Indeed, the urgency of the matter made this all the more baffling.

He lay Max's body out in an armchair. As a stuttery writhe crawled up Max's spinal column from tail to tip, his legs worked apart—and in this way the stiff tent in his trousers announced itself. "It's my—" Painstakingly modulated, pacing his limited processing power, Max spoke barely above a whisper—barely concealing the simmer of shame. "— _arousal_ subroutines. It won't stop, unless…" The servos in Max's neck whined disquietingly as he craned his head—and of course. The lights in his face pulsed a lurid violet. Sombra could be expected to leave her fingerprint on such a trick.

His gold-wrought, trembling fingers clutched Akande by the shirt, tightening in the crisp linen. "Akande," he croaked, "I need to _come._ "

A trick of Sombra's, indeed. If Max did not look like he was about to melt where he sat, Akande could have laughed. Max took offense to an ill-suppressed smirk, approximating a huff. Akande cleared his throat. "Well. If _that_ is all."

"You understand why it suits me to keep this matter fairly private—" Max's hot fingers creaked when pried from Akande's clothing. Despite themselves, they clawed at his thick wrists before giving out, dropping inert into his lap. The thought loped away in a whine oddly breathy for one who never breathed.

"Doubtless." Maximilien, more than most, staked so much on his presentation, controlled it so exactingly. There were some in this nest of vipers whom he could pay well enough to entrust his life to them—and very few to whom he could entrust his dignity. (Wisely or not.)

Akande remotely locked the door. Over the rattle of Max's body, the click barely registered. That rattle intensified, Max's back arching in the chair, his hands wrenching up in claws. "Akande— _hurry._ Please—"

Akande's palm clamped over the seam of Max's jaw—a symbolic rather than actual silencing, nevertheless understood by both. He would spare either of them the indignity of Max's being made to beg.

Max's eyes dimmed. Briefly the only sound in the room was his core humming and the wheezing of his machinery. The buttons of his jacket were askew, victim to clumsy attempts to pry them loose as his hands gradually faltered. Akande's steadfast fingers unbuttoned his jacket and his shirt, giving off billowing pulses of heat with each button loosed. Unmuffled, his straining body purred. He glistened splendidly, platinum plating, gold wiring, ruby LEDs strobing danger. He had sunk countless amounts of his riches into his own body, and it showed. Akande's hand glided over the bulge in Max's trousers, rendered comically around for the erection they ill-concealed. (Something like this had never been a concern for someone whose arousal was strictly voluntary.) Static electricity popped behind the cloth as Max rutted into the touch.

Akande rolled Max's trousers loose, exposing a cock lifelike in shape only. Like the rest of Max it was stiff, unyielding metal: smooth as glass, light as tin, hot as skin. Minute pleasure receptors lined its surface seamlessly, chips of gold glittering only under certain plays of the light, otherwise unseen. From Max one could expect no less than state of the art—nothing less than _appetizing._ Open-handed, Akande stroked down the shaft, from the head to the seamless joint between the base and his body. The motion carried pinpricks of electric charge up his fingers, raising goose pimples up Akande's shoulders.

He closed the circumference of his grip around the base and rolled his hand up, palm slick with sweat. The urgency of the matter seemed to demand efficiency. Max's wriggling seemed to beg it—he rocked his hips into Akande's fist indeliberately, nearly animal if not for the way the judder of his machinery betrayed him. As Akande pumped, audible sizzles traveled Max's cock with each downward stroke. He licked his lips and tightened his grip around the base with a swivel of the wrist. The surges of charge nearly numbed his hand.

Max's grunts took an uneasy timbre: "A-Akan—" Briefly his voice cut out. "—d—Akande— _don't—!!_ "

Akande jerked away like he'd been shocked. "Don't?" His tone controlled and neutral—blithe, even, for the suddenness of his withdrawal.

Maximilien shuddered, a motion akin to catching his breath, rocking his hips in self-modulation. "You—I can't—it's too much. Too _fast._ " His fingers dug divots into the chair's arms. "I'll overheat."

Akande's brows relaxed, a mirthless little grin crossing his lips. This was Sombra's intent laid plain: she meant to _humble_ Max. She meant to make him stew in it. He could commend her audacity if it did not directly imperil his most adept financier. He would have words for her, when he and Max were through.

"Then let us by all means take things at your pace." His tone meandered like his fingers, tracing the raised ridge along the underside of Max's erection, thumbing a painstakingly rendered, painstakingly sensitised frenulum. Max uttered a fraying, breathy whine that effortlessly gripped Akande below the belt.

With slowed strokes the hot crackle of static charge across his palm became almost inviting. Max moaned, his tenor, satiny in its preprogrammed artifice, crackling like ancient vinyl—nevertheless human for its spontaneity. His chest sank with each utterance. Where had Max learned to emote in so human a way? When, precisely, had the sound of his voice stopped needling Akande? Akande had not intended to unbuckle his belt, but his free hand had wandered there of its own accord. He pawed down the open fly, clutching himself through his boxers—clumsily—each hand moving in a rhythm disparate from the other. He struggled to restrain himself, not to misapply his grip on Max's hot, trembling cock, as he rolled his wrist down his own.

Akande paused. At any rate, that hand, his prosthetic hand, was never his favoured hand for handling himself. And the tingling in his palm had him wondering.

Max's neck clicked as he righted his head. "Y-you stopped." One strobing eye blinked on. "What are—"

Akande had stepped out of his clothing from the waist down. He mounted the edge of the chair on his knees and wondered why he had not assumed this vantage point sooner—even at a kneel, Max was captured in his shadow. The latter was not fragile (a man of metal could not be called fragile) but he was _light_ , and could be gathered by the small of his back into just one of Akande's arms. Max stuttered a vocalisation. His hot chest pressed into Akande's big, broad one—his brow barely reached Akande's shoulder. Their bodies pressed flush—hip to hip—cock to sleek, silvery cock.

"At your pace, old friend." There was no endearment that did not, irrespective of intent, innately sound like a threat when it came from Akande's mouth.

Max regained control of his body enough to roll his hips, their cocks grinding together with a popping glide, hot and biting. Akande bit his lip against a gasp. He rocked his body, rutting his erection against Max's. Involuntarily Max vibrated: not an unwelcome addition. Akande slipped a palmful of saliva down his front and gripped their erections together tight, stroking them both. In squeezing the head of Max's thrumming cock into the underside of his own, he crushed a groan of bliss from the depths of his lungs.

From Max he also squeezed a whine and a spasm of motion—a trembling arm flung about his neck for dear life.

"A-Akande—" Max's voice rattled in warning if Akande applied too much force. Counterintuitively so—the synthesised purr sank like teeth into Akande's hindbrain, buzzing in his skull like the hot, tingling cock squeezed in his grip against his own. At Max's pace. The rutting of Max's hips had devolved into erratic writhing. Akande should be applauded for his restraint—anyone else would have flattened Max into the chair.

Akande could not be so short-sighted. Much wiser to pace himself. To grant this favour to an old business partner, to keep in his back pocket the potential of a favour perhaps extracted in return—Maximilien had his faults, but he kept meticulous ledgers. Wiser still to relish the weight of his partner's literally priceless body draped about his neck.

Between hitching breaths, he answered: "My friend." He shifted his grip more securely to Max's flank, pressing Max tighter against him, swiveling his hips to crush their cocks intimately together.

Hot, hard, blunt fingertips dug into Akande's shoulder. "I'm _close,_ " Max whispered. Akande had sensed it—the heat of Max's body building against his own, making sweat drip down his chin and pool in the hollow of his collarbone. Akande was close, too. It tightened like a vise below his stomach, hazing his eyes until he shut them tight. As Akande crushed his hips against Max, his grip bit into Max's smooth chrome. Max's face twisted into the crook of Akande's neck.

Akande gave no forewarning before he spilled. His cock shuddered, Max's buzzing against his. Max, pushed to the edge, twisted from knees to shoulders, his precious body pressing into Akande's sturdy one. His moan of climax skipped and pitched, nearly squealing—

Yet it was the silence that rang in Akande's ears far above the sound. The utter cessation of Max's mechanical cacophony—the way in which his ecstatic cry had simply snapped off. Gingerly Akande took Max by the shoulders. He hung limp as a puppet. The light had literally gone out of his eyes.

Akande had the span of a few long minutes to grit his teeth, to interrogate himself for any misapplication of force he might have made—to think foremostly about how painful he would make the consequences of Sombra's short-sighted trolling.

The lower-leftmost LED in Max's faceplate began to blink, and Akande shoved those thoughts aside in an abrupt jumble. The omnic was rebooting.

Akande laid Max's limbs carefully out. Something about the translucent pearls of come on Max's spent body suited his look—his silver, his gold, the crimson bejeweling him. Akande pursed his lips, committing that imagery to his mind's eye. Then with a silk handkerchief he wiped him clean to a shine, and slid his cock away inside the compartment that hid it. He wrestled the trousers up Max's limp legs, buttoned his suit neatly up. He was midway through Max's tie when Max came to with a groggy, atonal hum.

"Max?"

Max answered with another hum, vaguely upturned in recognition, and that was another concern lifted from Akande's shoulders. He raised his arms and found one hand hanging unresponsive. Though the offending protocols had been resolved, they had evidently not been done soon enough.

"How much do you remember?" Akande asked.

With his one functioning, graceless arm Max eased himself to wobbly feet. "Enough to apologise for the imposition."

Akande smoothed his features to a stone mask. "Apology accepted." He took Max's dangling hand neutrally. "You would do well to have this seen to."

Max vocalised a grimace. The monetary cost of repairs was no concern for him, but it would also cost him time, which even Max must pay in the same measure as anyone else. He put his foot forward, discovering an unpleasant limp that might not purely have been the fault of the virus. (There had been visible dents in his thigh.) He withheld any criticism he might've given. "Thank you," he said. "For your assistance."

"Thanks are unnecessary." Akande trusted that he could call on Max to repay this debt. Any further acknowledgment thereof was at best unnecessary—at worst humiliating.

Max meant to make his intrusion on Akande brief. But Akande stopped Max before the latter could depart. Max's functioning hand jumped as Akande reached for the glittering gold of Max's lapel pin—it had listed askew in all the commotion. The hand shuddered as it lowered. His immutable metal face betrayed no reaction, and that was a relief to them both.


End file.
